Category Archives: THING

THE PROBLEM: The Irish house of Parliament (the Dáil) is in a mess. There’s a massive job ahead to be done, but time and again politicians are voted into power based on their ability to bring investment or at least a little positive attention to their local area, rather than having an ability to face or tackle the national problems of the country.

“He may not be able to renegotiate a deal with Brussels, but he’ll make sure the road outside my house looks alright.”

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THE SOLUTION: Nobody should be allowed vote for their own ministers.

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ie. ..People in Cork should be given a choice of Carlow candidates, people in Donegal should vote to put in Waterford ministers, Galway people should be given a choice of Louth political wannabes, etc..

Existing political approaches and constructs such as “clinics” should be allowed continue as before, but not in the voting areas -rather in the area in which the politician has been elected to represent. (eg. a Louth TD should live in Louth and not be allowed have a clinic in Galway.)

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This ensures that

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a) Nobody can think only of himself/herself when voting for a candidate since the person who gets in will not be responsible for “the road outside my house”.

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b) Everyone will consider the national interest when voting.

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c) Candidates will run with a national-interest mindset and agenda.

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What’s good for the country will ultimately trickle down to local rights, rules and regulations.

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OF COURSE THIS WON’T BE ADOPTED BECAUSE: Irish people have voted for the same political party since ever. Even now they are set to vote back in their local Fianna Fáil (or any other “established” party candidate) because “he’s not one of them fellas who made the mess -an’ didn’t he turn up to Johnny’s funeral last November on a rainy day!”

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“Political Reform” to anyof these people means a token reduction in expenses and perhaps removing automatic rights for some TDs to a state car & driver.

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Same ole wankers will get back in, even if some of them have different faces. Same ole crap will be the result. Nothing will change except the people of Ireland slouch their shoulders and prepare for a hundred years of hardship.

I think there are far too many blogs out there doing nothing but rephrasing other blogs. I prefer to keep this site for “original content” in the main (has been sparse lately I know -I’ll be back! Soon!), but also to link to the original sites (or where I originally saw them perhaps) whenever possible. …And anyway, of course this is not a blog!

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For that reason, I hope the “Recommended Reading” widget on the left of this page will prove interesting and/or fun. It might be some lengthy write-up, but more often than not my guess is it’ll be something not-too-long, but not too distracting-for-the-sake-of-it.

The markets want money for cocaine and prostitutes. I am deadly serious.

Most people don’t realize that “the markets” are in reality 22-27 year old business school graduates, furiously concocting chaotic trading strategies on excel sheets and reporting to bosses perhaps 5 years senior to them. In addition, they generally possess the mentality and probably intelligence of junior cycle secondary school students. Without knowladge of these basic facts, nothing about the markets makes any sense—and with knowladge, everything does.

What the markets, bond and speculators, etc, want right now is for Ireland to give them a feel good feeling, nothing more. A single sharp, sweeping budget would do that; a four year budget plan will not. Remember that most of these guys won’t actually still be trading in four years. They’ll either have retired or will have been promoted to a position where they don’t care about Ireland anymore. Anyone that does will be a major speculator looking to short the country for massive profit.

In lieu of a proper budget, what the country can do—and what will work—is bribe senior ratings agencies owners and officials to give the country a better rating. Even a few millions spent on bumping up Ireland’s rating would save millions and possibly save the country.

Bread and circuses for the masses; cocaine and prostitutes for the markets. This can be looked on as unethical obviously, but since the entire system is unethical, unprincipled and chaotic anyway, why not just exploit that fact to do some good for the nation instead of bankrupting it in an effort to buy new BMWs for unmarried 25 year olds.

Y’know when you are walking down the street and pass an old one-armed one-eyed chinaman in traditional garb, smoking from a long pipe who nods his head and walks away down a dodgy-looking backalley and you wonder if you should follow him for some big secret revelation beyond your imagination or turn and run in the opposite direction asap?

The outside is somewhat… unassuming, to put it mildly, downright frightening to more accurately describe it.

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This is as good as it gets outside. See that golden angel thingy overhead? It looks dangerously perched over the doorway. It feels like walking under a (spiky) ladder passing through the doorway and the bad-luck feeling stays with you as you proceed.

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Truth be told, I love the ramshackle style. It’s like old New Orleans or a mishmash of clutter that Major Johnny Brit might have brought back from his trip round the world “to see the Empire an’ all that”.

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Up the stairs and through the door on the right and you’re into the main room (no further photos I’m sorry to say -the rest you’ll have to see for yourself!)

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If you had doubts up to now, they may be brushed aside when you catch a glimpse of the menu (sample here), but all misgivings are definitely tossed out the [large] window [overlooking the street below] once the food arrives.

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Three of us called there last night. As a ‘surprise taster’, we each got the same small, meaty Octopus salad.

Two of us lashed it down.I can only remember tasting octopus once before, and I didn’t like it -it was rubbery and it had tentacle suckers. The cuts in this salad though were soft and meaty and very tasty. Mrs. Rumm couldn’t eat hers (don’t worry -everything else was self-selectable), but I dare say if the owner, Seamus, had called it ‘chicken surprise’ instead she’d have loved it. 🙂

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I had a ‘wood-pigeon with beetroot’ starter. I’ve never been a big fan of beetroot, but again, here the beetroot tasted like meat -it was thickly cut and melted in the mouth like a moist tender slice of beef. In fact at times it was difficult to determine which was the beetroot and which the poor, dear, dead and tasty wood-pigeon. Dear dear wood-pigeon. I loved your meat, though we never met.

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My brother had a sushi starter, consisting of crab wraps, sea bass and one or two other bits. My wife had the duck (could well have been the main course in another establishment, if served with a few dollops of potato). It had a lovely-looking crispy skin that I was tempted to grab from her plate when I saw her slice it away to reveal the tender meat within, but by then I was lost in the delights of my own dish.

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Next, for the “between courses” course, we had a choice of three dishes. The two males chose the lobster bisque, Mrs. Rumm again took the non-marine route and went with the sorbet.

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I had expected a little shot-glass fishy aperitif. Instead I was presented with a bowl of soup (with newly-replenished bowl of delicious bread). I have no doubt the lobster was running around that morning because the bisque had quite the kick. In truth, this was the closest I came to disliking anything: The dish was peppery and tangy and ‘alien’ tasting. Somehow, after dipping a slice of (raspberry) bread into it however, it began to transform: The bread I could understand, and now the alien taste blended well with this understandable taste and so I found my taste buds accepting it. By the end, do I need to make clear? -each of our ‘late course starter’ dishes was completely demolished.

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Onward and ever-upward to the main course!

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I had the Sea Bass. Nothing amazing in the description, but the taste was delicious I’m sure I don’t need to say. It was served in a sauce similar to the lobster bisque I had just eaten, but without the extra kick that would’ve knocked the bass out of the plate. Instead, this sauce had an ‘added lightness’ feel to it, much the same way lemongrass does for asian cooking (if that makes sense?)

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My brother had the duck (very tasty looking too) and Mrs. Rumm had the undeniable steak.

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For dessert, two of us had the Selection of Irish Cheeses (“Served in a right state”) and the other had the berry tart with olive oil ice cream.

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Let me say, for the record, I haven’t tasted every Irish cheese by a long-shot, but I can admit that I’d never had a ‘delicious’ Irish cheese before. In Ivory Towers, however, I loved all of the 5 or 6 cheeses on my plate. Maybe it was the mix, maybe it was the salty crackers or the rich Rioja red wine, but I particularly liked the blue (Bellingham) cheese and the nutty/seedy one -‘Killeens’ I think Seamus told me it was. Each available from On The Pigs Back in the nearby English Market.

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Overall, the evening was an adventure as much as a meal. I had been there a number of years ago and can vouch for the consistency and quality of the food.

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The total cost wasn’t cheap, but well worth it.

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One bonus was when we discovered that the set-price menu had been reduced from 60euros to just 50, which is a steal for food of this quality. To celebrate we had a little more wine than we may have had, which went down very well, but did cause costs to leap of course.

In this digital age, many people have long since ripped any CDs they have onto their computer/ portable player, then buried their music pile behind the couch or in the attic.

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Vinyl albums are making a comeback as people once again appreciate the emotional response that comes from holding a large interactive, holdable, foldable, readable, viewable work of Art (never mind the more controversial matter of what sounds better).

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Vinyl album sleeves and cases are can be beautiful. These have always had a value separate to the quality of the music that lies within.

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Unfortunately, CDs never had this. In the quest for slimline, stark, neat and efficient reduction, much was lost. Sleeve artwork on the whole became a necessary byproduct, a utilitarian descriptor rather than a thing of beauty in and of itself.

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As a result, CDs and CD cases are small, characterless and unloved.

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As a result, these CDs are now mostly hidden -out of sight- behind the couch or clogging up the attic.

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But I’ve found a nice use for them (well, for those nicer sleeves at least):

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Lightshades:

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It’s just some LED Christmas lighting wrapped in circles and stuck onto a plastic front that holds some CDS. I designed them and asked Tom Deevy at T&T Shopfitters (Cork) to make the ‘racks’.

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I can’t claim credit for the bits in-between though.

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Depending on mood or the latest colour scheme on the wall (ya right), the CDs can be swapped out and replaced. Or even taken out and played if such a drastic notion occurred to you.

Peace and Brotherly Love are the by-words that certain correspondents would have us believe most effectively sum up relations and mood between the peoples of Northern Ireland.

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But under the surface (and even clearly on the surface at times) old hatreds and prejudices boil and bubble, resulting in an annual eruption of violence you could set your watch by. Old Faithful is alive and well and gushing through the streets of Northern Ireland every 12th of July.

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THE PROBLEM: ‘Orangemen’ see it as their right to hold parades along routes they have always marched each 12th of July. Unfortunately, certain areas on certain routes do not want these marches. People in these areas see them as an imperialist and triumphalist finger to the wishes of the majority (in those areas).

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Every year this results in a stand-off between both peoples, usually with the police in the middle (literally) keeping them apart.

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THE SOLUTION: Allow the orangemen down the road (each contentious road I mean), one person at a time.

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These roads are lined with police and army vehicles that keep the ‘locals’ from attacking marchers as the almost-inevitable parade progresses. Orangemen are usually told not to play their instruments during these times.

These men wish to “walk down the queen’s highway” as they put it and frankly they have a point.

Catholics/locals in these certain areas do not wish a horde of “ignorant loyalists” to trample through their patch, and frankly they have a point too (even though the idea of catholic and protestant ‘patches’ itself is ridiculous, however that’s how it is).

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So anyway, after a flurry of protest & violence, usually the orangemen eventually march, amid a flurry of protest & violence on the other side of the barricade.

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Imagine now the scene if orangemen were allowed march one-at-a-time. Such a ‘march’ could no longer be interpreted as a triumphalist cock-a-snoot to the locals, but instead would be laughed-off (loudly) from behind the barriers. The glass bottles and angry threats would be replaced by jeers and mocking laughter. (OK, ideally this should not occur either of course, but I’m trying to be real here).

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The result is the orangemen have their march, but it could not be interpreted by ‘locals’ as an annual triumphalist invasion of the area.

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Of course this won’t be adopted because: The underlying problem is the traditional communities themselves, divided along sectarian lines. It’s understandable why people huddled together in these ways during the troubles, forced to rely on each other in times of need. Now these huddles (in certain areas) are themselves as problematic as a mass of marchers. They will likely take a couple of generations to disperse naturally, as people find they no longer need to live and define themselves along strictly religious lines.

THE PROBLEM: A BP oil pipe is spewing oil now for how long? Months? Why can’t it be stopped?

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THE SOLUTION: Shove a cork in it.

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No really. I know it’s a mile underwater, but if they can send an unmanned rocket to Mars and get the coordinates right to such an amazing degree I dare say someone could do the equivalent of sticking a cork on the end of a hanger and shoving it through an open bottle at the bottom of a well.

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It may take a few efforts. Oil is gushing out after all. But the ‘cork’ could be more like a needle/ syringe, so once the pointy bit gets in there, the rest could be pushed from one end and dragged from the other.

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Like this:

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The “cork” can have a camera on the end of it for guidance.

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Better yet, why not have an unmanned sub type device that dives into the hole, plugging it?

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Failing that, how about a fat kamikaze underwater pilot?

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Obviously that last one might not be the best option, but I fail to see what’s so far fetched about the others. I mean, are they even trying??

OK, it wasn’t my idea. I saw it on another website ages ago and was planning on doing it ever since. I should really link to there, but I’ve searched and haven’t found the exact one (there are other similar ones though)

Put a slice of sponge/madeira cake at the bottom of the pot.
Stick a straw in it and scoop out the ‘madeira circle’ made by the straw (this is for the flower to fit into).
Fill in around the straw with ice cream (I used 2 types: Honeycomb and Strawberry).
Plant a jelly worm in there somewhere as you build.
Place oreos in a plastic bag and smash with a rolling pin.
Looks just like dirt.
Cover the top of the pot with the ‘dirt’.

…Stick flower in the straw.

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Good fun had by all. Tastes great too!

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…By the way, the “Oreos dirt” looks so real I had one of these pots in the centre of the table all through dinner and nobody noticed anything odd about it.

Afterwards I said “who wants to see a trick?”, before stuffing my face with dirt. Even then, it took many spoonfuls before they realised it wasn’t dirt.

The ice cream was lovely and soft (I took the 4 pots out of the freezer just before we ate).

In this series I posit some unconventional/ will-never-be-tried solutions to problems of our times.

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Like many public healthcare agencies worldwide, Ireland has a crumbling healthcare system. Waiting lists to even be seen by a specialist through the public system are unacceptably long, let alone for anything to actually be done about the ailment.

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Many The majority of people are forced to pay for private healthcare.“And why shouldn’t they?” I hear you cry. Well, that’s fair enough (I have private healthcare myself) but in this country there is supposed to be a public healthcare system on par with anything available privately. But that is clearly one basic lie the government refuse to admit to.

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THE PROBLEM: How could the Public Healthcare System (in Ireland or anywhere else) be given the best chance of success?

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THE SOLUTION: Make it a term of employment to everyone working in that system to forego private healthcare for themselves and their dependants.

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Obviously, this ensures that all doctors, nurses, managers, administrators, cleaners, janitors, cooks and bottle washers have a personal vested interest in ensuring the public healthcare system is as optimal as can possibly be within the allotted budget.

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Of course this won’t be adopted because: There is no real reason for a government to have a perfect public healthcare system. If there was nobody would buy private healthcare and the government would have to pay for everybody, which would mean higher taxes.

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Reason #2: Vested interests. The single block to all true progress. Too many people and groups slurp the cream off the trough in Healthcare. They simply wouldn’t abide it. It’s OK to screw everybody because “everybody” doesn’t have a legitimate voice or access to the right ears. “Everybody” is an ill-defined group even if it includes everybody.

However, a single large group who make the right nods and pay the right people follow the correct channels can hold an enormous sway over, and often to the detriment of, the majority.

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The only hope it will ever be done: Dictatorship.
Or the right kind of authoritarian leader at least who has the balls to stick them out in public for a couple of years while it rights itself from the bottom-up.

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I believe something like this has been done in some part of China, with great success.